The Real Santa

A dear friend of mine, John, told this story of himself two days ago. He was on his way to Boston from Western New York and stopped to visit for a few hours. We had not seen him since he had moved to Santa Fe and, subsequently, returned to New York.

John is a large man. Not portly or fat but large, with a full beard and a gentle, round, deep voice. Certainly all the necessary “bones” to be Santa. More than that, though, he has penetrating eyes, a sympathetic and literate ear and defines human scale patience.

He had never been a Santa. Never had wanted to be. He was called to duty recently, though, as a major holiday event of the Hospice affiliate where he worked learned that the scheduled Santa had become ill. He stepped in.

As he told the story, he was understated, but we could tell that he spent time with each child who came to visit, listened to their stories and asked important questions of them all.

He was an excellent Santa, but there is more.

As he was finishing his rounds, he overheard a small boy with whom he had visited tell his older sister, “Ya know, all those other Santas were fake, but you should have talked to him, he was the REAL Santa.”